


Days we shall not soon forget

by Myulalie



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Regency, Artist Magnus Bane, Blow Jobs, Bridgerton AU, Forbidden Love, Horseback Riding, Lord Alec Lightwood, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Marriage Contracts, Protective Alec Lightwood, Regency Romance, Rich Alec Lightwood, Secret Relationship, Social gathering, commoner magnus bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myulalie/pseuds/Myulalie
Summary: “What might be like, these grand affairs you must attend?” Magnus sighs, wrapping his arms around Alec’s shoulders.“You would hate them. Every eligible lady of breeding dressed in some lavishly trimmed frock, bloodthirsty mamas at their sides and wary fathers making arrangements for only the most advantageous of matches. And of course, without my father here, that responsibility falls upon me.”Lord Lightwood is besotted with Magnus Bane, an artist under his protection. Can he protect both his siblings and the man he loves from the expectations of society, and his mother's schemes to marry Isabelle off?
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 33
Kudos: 108





	Days we shall not soon forget

**Author's Note:**

> > Malec & Bridgerton AU
> 
> I received my first prompt on tumblr, thank you anon, hope you like this OS! Thanks to Spark for beta-reading ♥
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** most of the dialogue is directly taken from the script of Bridgerton, episode 1.
> 
> You can tweet me at **#myulalie**!

The sun lays a gentle caress on Alec’s back, one he hopes will not leave an angry mark between his shoulder blades. The light leaves a delicious sheen on the expanse of smooth skin beneath him, like the most precious quartz, smoked to a gorgeous radiance Alec cannot grow tired of. Green and yellow grass cradles Magnus’ body and Alec’s as he lowers his head and swallows around his lover’s length.

He runs his fingers over Magnus’ abdomen, flat and mellow, nothing like Alec’s, Magnus is warm beneath his hands, his shirt hanging from his chest like slowly melting snow in the field of dried grass. Magnus arches his back, pushing his hips up to press his erection deeper in Alec’s mouth, and gives a breathy moan when Alec bobs his head obediently.

The rustle of leaves above them reminds Alec of the passing of time, and he glances at the clock ticking in the grass next to them, a silver pocket watch that ticks too close to the time of the social gathering. Alec will be late. He can feel Magnus writhing beneath him, spread under the oak tree, both of them half naked from fooling around in the field and laughing.

“Alexander. One day I shall seize that watch and take it apart bit by bit,” Magnus pants above him.

“That belonged to my father,” Alec breathes out, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ hip, “should it disappear, I would miss it sadly.”

“Then you shall know precisely how I feel every time you disappear.”

Alec snatches the hand crawling up his sideburns and to his dark hair before Magnus can mess up his already unruly curls, and kisses the bright stains of red and blue and green paint, a blend of yellow and orange on the edge of the artist’s knuckles. Sunlight flashes off his rusty rings, and Alec shifts uncomfortably in the grass, willing his own erection to disappear. There is no time left for him.

“Stay with me today,” Magnus pleads.

“I’m afraid I cannot, my sister must be chaperoned at the Morgenstern ball this evening.”

Magnus throws his head back when Alec laps at his length, and falls silent as Alec swallows down around him again. Alec lets go of Magnus’ hands to brush the artist’s thighs and slide up to the sensitive skin beneath, and Magnus comes with a muffled cry when his length hits the back of Alec’s throat.

Alec swallows, letting go reluctantly, and kisses Magnus’ stomach, making his way up to nip at the exposed throat, throbbing with the breath Magnus has yet to catch. He covers Magnus’ body with his when they kiss, and tangles his hands in the artist’s charcoal hair, too long for the current fashion in the aristocracy. It suits Magnus’ strikingly handsome features though, with his slanted eyes and sharp cheekbones, the glow of his eyes like black tea.

“What might be like, these grand affairs you must attend?” Magnus sighs, wrapping his arms around Alec’s shoulders.

“You would hate them,” he chuckles, and feels the familiar, throbbing sting on his shoulder blades. Alec blames his pale complexion for the sunburns, “Every eligible lady of breeding dressed in some lavishly trimmed frock, bloodthirsty mamas at their sides and wary fathers making arrangements for only the most advantageous of matches. And of course, without my father here, that responsibility falls upon me.”

“A significant duty, no doubt,” Magnus agrees with a stifled laugh, nodding wisely.

“Someone must guard my poor sister from the bucks and pinks, ensure her virtue remains free of any kind of defilement.”

“Isabelle, yes?” the artist interrupts, arching his eyebrows, “She is fortunate, although I doubt a woman of her stature is in need of such gallant protection.”

“Isabelle is a lady,” Alec shrugs and sits up, grabbing the pocket watch.

“Of course, my lord.”

Magnus gathers his shirt around him, though he does not quite button it up and adjusts his pants on his waist with a sigh. He avoids Alec’s eyes, no doubt in an attempt not to overstep, Alec knows that Magnus doesn’t care much for the intricacies of high society, and the artist would probably be in jail if it weren’t for his protectors, ladies and gents alike, and their influence. There are twigs in Magnus’ hair and on his shoulders, so Alec reaches to brush them off, and ducks his head in order to meet the artist’s eyes.

“Magnus,” he starts, but it goes unanswered, “angel, you have me, protecting you. I will always protect you.”

Finally, the artist peers at him, and Alec leans in to steal a kiss, savoring the wet slide of their lips and the taste that is distinctively Magnus. The wind sends a handful of leaves swirling down, and the clock is ticking in Alec’s hand, so they part reluctantly. Alec’s horse awaits him, attached to a nearby tree, and he winces as he buttons his shirt, the fabric suddenly rough against his abused back.

“Have you worked on that oil painting of my family joining the Queen for dinner like I requested?” Alec asks as he unties the reins.

“Of course my lord,” Magnus lies smoothly, his lips tilting up at one corner.

“Be sure you have something ready for me when I visit.”

Magnus gives a mock military salute as Alec gets on the horse, and the artist saunters through the field, back to the apartment Alec pays for on the other side of town. The lord cannot help but spur his horse on until they catch up with the artist, and offers Magnus his hand.

“May I show you to the main road, at least?”

The artist gives Alec’s horse a wary look. A beautiful animal, with a black coloring, lustrous, that flows over powerful limbs and a muscular body. Magnus is not around horses as much as Alec, of course, and to commoners, horses are more likely to trample them than carry them around. Yet, Magnus trusts Alec, and takes hold of the lord’s offered hand so Alec helps him up, and gives Magnus a second to settle behind him before spurring the horse on once again.

Magnus holds on tightly to Alec’s waist, plastered to the lord’s back, and Alec winces at the pain from his sunburn coming back with a vengeance. He cherishes the proximity though, the smell of sandalwood that surrounds him every time he holds Magnus close. Alec loves Isabelle dearly, and he would never leave her alone at the Morgenstern ball, but he wishes he did not have to leave Magnus alone either. 

They send dust flying as they come up to the main road, and the horse slows down to a stop in the shade of a nearby plane tree, snorting. Magnus doesn’t relax straight away, still holding onto Alec, and it takes a little nudging before the tight embrace loosens enough for the lord to glance over his shoulder.

“Will you be alright, angel?”

“Yes,” Magnus shakes his head, strands of dark hair falling over his eyes, “thank you, my lord.”

Magnus tightens his hold on Alec’s waist again as he flings his leg over the horse and slides down to the ground, before looking up to Alec. Long eyelashes throw dancing shadows on his cheek, and Alec wishes he could kiss them, alas the clock is ticking inside his breast pocket. He nods once, and Magnus steps back, off to the side and out of the way of a fancy carriage. 

Alec scowls at the carriage, and races it to the Morgenstern’s townhouse. A beautiful building, covered in anemone flowers, and when Alec dismounts swiftly the sound of his heels hitting the cobblestone echoes in the yard. The Lightwood’s carriage comes round just as he leaves his horse with a groom, and Alec bows deeply as Lady Maryse steps out of the white and gold flame work on the carriage.

“Mother.”

“Alec!” Isabelle interrupts before Maryse can scold him.

She hurries out of the carriage as well and Alec barely has time to offer his hand to her as she steps onto the cobblestones in a white frock, the white fabric luxurious and immaculate. Her hair curls beautifully over her shoulders, leaving her face and doe eyes on display as Maryse tied the long strands of dark hair back on Isabelle’s head with a brand new silk ribbon.

“You came,” Isabelle goes on, grinning.

“I could not possibly leave you to fend for yourself here,” Alec replies.

“Yet, you are late,” Maryse scowls.

She wears a frock and a dark blue Spencer, her hair, dark like her children, up in a tight bun, and Alec ignores his mother to escort Isabelle inside. His sister looks very proper, nothing like the girl Alec knows, he used to tug on her pigtails and shove dirt in her hair, but she’d knock him out with a single punch if he tried now.

The Morgenstern town house is dimly lit for the ball, and Alec leads Isabelle across the polished wooden floors as around them, young women offer to show their suitors watercolors, and their mothers add a little something about pianoforte and flowers. Alec moves past them without a glance, holding Isabelle’s arm firmly when she makes a grab a drink.

“You are not allowed near this table,” Alec whispers, and she huffs.

“He is rather pleasing,” Isabelle comments as they move past a man carrying a monocle.

“He is rather here to shuffle about hunting fortunes. Trust Mr Lewis knows of your sizable dowry, leave him be,” Alec dismisses.

“I presume you know him too?” Isabelle goes on as though Alec has not spoken, pointing at a blond man.

“Mr Blackthorn, second son,” Maryse replies, scowling at Julian Blackthorn, “we shall find better.”

The Carstairs girl will probably end up with Julian, and Alec agrees with his mother. He has no intention of leaving Isabelle with the oldest Blackthorn either, Mark is a cheat, a man of any honor ensures his debts are fully paid, but Mark left an unpaid balance on the gentlemen club’s betting books last winter.

They veer out of the way of the Morgenstern children, Jonathan and Clarissa, they look nothing alike, him with a head of golden hair and stark features, her with a mane of red hair and freckles. She cleaned up well, Alec notices distractedly when Isabelle makes to pause and introduce herself, but he keeps walking, Maryse following. She pushes Isabelle forward.

“He is of dubious parentage,” she whispers in her children’s ears.

Alec has heard the rumors that Valentine frolicked with his domestic, who looks strikingly like Clary, when his spouse revealed unable to bear children. Alec himself is wary of Jonathan, whom a few ladies have been caught with, unchaperoned.

“I shall not have you making a life with a poet, heaven forbid,” Alec mutters to himself.

“Nor an eccentric,” Maryse adds.

Isabelle rolls her eyes and they chastise her for the unladylike behavior, when a polite cough attracts the Lightwoods’ attention, and Alec comes face to face with Lady Morgenstern. She is sickeningly pale in a silver gown, her beady eyes are dead black, cold and empty and her hair looks like a nest of snakes, yet they all bow respectfully to their host.

“Good evening, Lady Lightwood, Miss Lightwood,” she pauses disdainfully, “Lord Lightwood.”

“I believe you have already been introduced to my daughter Isabelle,” Maryse replies evenly.

“Indeed. You look rather,” another pause, “lovely this evening. Is there a reason I have yet to see you on the dance floor?”

“All in good time, Lady Morgenstern,” Alec cuts in smoothly.

“Allow them to come to you,” Maryse comments offhandedly as their host leaves them be.

The rustle of fabric is overwhelming for Alec, and he hides a wince when someone slaps his back, right over the sunburn. The strong palm belongs to a familiar individual, with fair blond hair and bright eyes, the man is shorter than Alec, clad in white and gold like a knight in the old legends.

“Alec!” the blond exclaims, beaming.

“Jace!” Alec replies excitedly, momentarily letting go of his sister.

“Come here, old friend,” Jace exclaims again, slapping Alec’s back one more time.

Alec conceals his wince of pain and slaps Jace right back, over the head with the size difference, which sends Jace’s blond streaks of hair flying and some people give them odd looks, displeased with their behavior, Alec’s mother among them.

“I heard news of your father, you are no longer a Wayland nor a Morgenstern,” Alec says, lowering his voice.

“Herondale, Prince Herondale, can you believe it?”

Jace smiles again, and his joy is infectious. Raised in the Morgenstern manor, among the grooms and servants of his late, adoptive father the humble Sir Wayland, many believed Jace to be another son of Valentine as he grew up pale and fair like Lord Morgenstern, until he was revealed to be the grandson of the Queen, Imogen Herondale herself.

“Right,” Alec smiles until his cheeks hurt, “have you met my sister? Isabelle, Jace and I know each other from our days at Oxford.”

“Days we shall not soon forget!” Jace adds.

“Yes, I am well aware of the company you keep, son,” Maryse interrupts, and makes to shoo Jace away.

“I am certain your days with His Royal Highness were most civilized, indeed,” Isabelle chimes in.

The blond grins at Izzy, ignoring Maryse, as he very well can, and Alec admires his mother and her social standing for doing such a thing, as Maryse is not only inferior to Jace, but also a widow. He misses Lord Starkweather approaching them as Isabelle steps aside to fetch a glass of lemonade, and by the time Alec notices, it is too late, especially when Maryse who has laid a warning hand on his arm, holds him back.

“Good evening,” the older man greets Izzy, “small glasses.”

“Lord Starkweather,” Isabelle replies and Alec turns around at the tension of her voice.

Jace slaps Alec on the back one last time before bidding him goodbye, and Alec takes the opportunity to move away from his mother, ready to fly to his sister’s rescue. The lord is a small man with a beaky nose that appears even more prominent because of the scar that runs down his face, Starkweather is a close friend to Maryse, and both her children have met him several times growing up.

“Tiny little things, are they not?” Hodge insists.

“The glasses? I suppose,” Isabelle agrees.

“Then the matter is settled.”

“I’m not entirely sure the matter in which we discuss, my lord,” she deflects smoothly.

Alec praises his sister internally, Isabelle is clever, and she can handle herself, but he’s seething. The nerve of this man! He hates the smile on Hodge’s face, and in the dim light of the reception room, Hodge looks even more predatory.

“You’ve always amused me, Miss Lightwood. Ever since I was a schoolboy and you were...”

“All but five?” Isabelle replies innocently. This is the last straw, Alec steps forward, and Isabelle scurries away from Lord Starkweather, “My brother, he summons me!”

Isabelle flings herself at Alec’s arm and he leads her towards the exit in spite of their mother’s protests, the most perfect thing would be to let Isabelle dance, leave her suitors all wanting more after holding her in their arms, but Alec has not intention to marry Isabelle off to one of them, and his sister would step on their feet anyway.

They leave the Morgenstern townhouse behind and Alec helps Maryse climb into the Lightwood carriage, the yard is empty except for them, music playing in the house still, and echoing against the cobblestones. Isabelle hides behind his back when Maryse glances at them, fiddling with her brother’s shirt.

“May I ride back with Alec?”

Maryse sighs and waves them off as a groom brings Alec’s black horse forth. He goes first, and helps Isabelle climb up as well, they can afford a new frock, and her laugh when he spurs the horse on is worth Maryse’s disapproving gaze as they race the carriage back to the Lightwood townhouse. The wind rushes past them, tangling Isabelle’s hair as it comes undone, and above them, the night sky is speckled with stars.

The Lightwood townhouse is alight with candles and Lydia, the governess, her hair pulled tight over her scalp with a silk ribbon that looks suspiciously like one of Isabelle’s, welcomes them at the door. She keeps Max, the boy is much younger than Alec and Isabelle, from running outside and ruining his night clothes, and their brother shrieks in delight at the sight of them dismounting.

“How was the ball? I cannot wait to go and court a lady!”

Alec smiles, ruffling his brother’s hair on the way inside, while a groom takes care of his horse, and the carriage Maryse just came out of. Max rushes past Isabelle and Lydia to throw himself at Maryse, and the matriarch freezes on the doorstep as the boy buries his face in her white and blue skirts.

“Mama! I want to marry Miss Madzie,” Max tells her, his high pitched voice muffled by the fabric.

Madzie is a distant cousin of Lady Loss — Catarina is a spinster and kind enough to take the girl under her wing— and Lady Loss’ ward is rather dowdy, in no way the potential prospect Maryse wishes for, but Alec will gladly arrange the marriage if Max so desires when he comes of age. Lady Loss is a dear friend of Magnus, and Alec himself cares for Madzie deeply.

Max emerges from his mother’s skirts, his dark hair at disarray, and Lydia holds her hand out to lead the boy back inside as Alec nods politely at the governess. He would trust her with his siblings’ lives, Lydia is a woman of duty and responsibility. 

She is Isabelle’s confidant too, and ever since she became the Lightwoods’ domestic, she has done nothing but good in honor of her late fiancé’s memory. John tried and failed to save Robert Lightwood’s life when he went hunting, and a horse made a mad dash for survival upon facing a sounder, but the wild boars trampled both Lord Lightwood senior and his groom.

Alec sighs at the memory and offers Maryse his arm to lead her inside. Isabelle follows along, moving with ease among mahogany furniture covered in family heirloom, but as Alec makes his way towards his father’s study, Isabelle veers towards her bedroom instead. She cannot bear the sight of a red velvet and mahogany wooden chessboard, that brings forth memories of Robert, a loving father, but distant husband. Maryse and Robert had one single thing in common, their desire to spare Isabelle the misery of a loveless marriage.

“You were a reasonable mother until your daughter came of age,” Alec says, keeping his voice low, “this matchmaking scheme you rather transparently concocted, it will not work.”

Alec pats the silver watch in his breast pocket at the sight, and trails his fingers along the back of beloved books, their servants dust the shelves every so often, but it has been a long time since Maryse laid a hand on the precious collection. Even Max avoids the study, he who used to sit on the desk chair while Robert perused their family’s account books.

“I can think of worse matches for Isabelle than Lord Starkweather,” Maryse replies tightly, “we are good friends.”

“He will not make her happy!” Alec argues.

“Your father-”

“Do not bring Father into this.”

Maryse and Robert did not love each other, and Isabelle deserves better, this has always been the consensus among the family. The matriarch steps away from Alec, and turns her back on the bookshelves to pace the room instead, her skirts a flurry of white and blue around her, not unlike her silent fury.

“Do not make this any more difficult than it already is,” Alec adds, whispering.

“I wish to know something, Alec. Tonight, when you leave this study, are you to return to your bedroom, that you continue to keep at your family home, or will you pay a visit to a certain artist that you tend to, in an apartment that you pay for, on the other side of town?” when Alec denies his mother of an answer, Maryse stops pacing, “You like to speak of responsibility, my dear son, of duty, pray tell, what should we do about this?”

“I am in possession of something most are not, a brother,” Alec loses patience.

“So you’re merely an older brother, and not the man of this house?” Maryse cuts in, “Relying on your younger brother to one day do the job that you cannot-”

“Enough!”

Maryse startles and Alec storms out of the study, there is no use in arguing with his mother, she does not have the power to make decisions anyhow. Someone snuffed the lights in the withdrawing room, but Alec has grown in this house and makes his way to the stable without trouble, where he saddles his horse. They leave running, and disappear into the night.

The streets are busy in the evening, and the horses’ hooves echo on the cobblestone as Alec slows down to a stop in front of the apartment. He spies Lord Fell coming out of a carriage with soprano singers on both his arms, and Alec shakes his head to hide a smile. He is not the only bachelor in town, and Fell has been unattached for the longest time.

The front of the house is covered with Daphne flowers, shades of white and purple Alec can’t appreciate in the evening as he ducks inside. The rickety staircase whines beneath the soles of his feet and Alec smiles as he pushes the door open to reveal Magnus reading by candlelight, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

Lady Loss and Lord Fell’s combined efforts to teach young Magnus how to read are a story Alec much prefers to listen to than Magnus’ occasional attempts to play some sort of instrument, which are the most unpleasant. The lord snort inelegantly at the thought, and Magnus finally takes notice of him, looking up.

The artist looks delightful in the glow of dancing flames, and Alec pauses to take him in, enjoy the shades that linger on Magnus’ cheeks and throat, the way his clothes, more comfortable than expensive, hang down his lithe frame, snug and inviting. Alec rubs at his sideburns, unable to conceal his smile. There is nowhere he would rather be.

“Alexander!” Magnus exclaims.

He tosses the book over his shoulder and Alec conceals a grimace, hoping this is not a priceless edition of the volume. There are half completed paintings stacked against a wall, and glass jars dangle from a peculiar garland above their heads. Alec peers at them with interest even as Magnus steps up to him.

“I hope the painting is ready,” the lord can’t help but say, knowing the commission is nowhere near complete.

“No, but I built something the Queen has never seen, or imagined!” Magnus pipes up.

The artist points at the garland, turning away from Alec for the briefest moment, but a grin obvious in his voice and Alec smiles, glancing at the glass jars too.

“What are these?”

Magnus brushes past him to move near his cluttered desk, rummaging to find a tinderbox to kindle a fire, and he brings a spark to the end of the garland. The fire crackles as it goes up, then flashes along the garland and suddenly all the jars light up like fireflies. Alec blinks slowly, surprised, and swivels around in wonder, staring at the garland like fireworks in the sky. The wooden floors sigh tiredly when Magnus steps closer, touching Alec’s waist, and the lord relaxes into the embrace, watching the display of lights above them.

“This is quite magical,” he breathes out.

The artist chuckles, kissing his cheek, rubbing his face against Alec’s sideburns with what sound suspiciously like a purr, and Alec turns slowly, bringing his hands up to cup Magnus’ face. They kiss in the amber glow of the fire trapped in glass jars, and Alec cannot believe, for one second, that he made the wrong choice. 

This is all he needs.

**Author's Note:**

>  **I take prompts!** Follow me [on tumblr](https://myulalie.tumblr.com/post/637141364802469888/string-of-pearls-and-prompts) and get in touch, my ask box is open ♥
> 
>  **On feedback:**  
>  “<3” as extra kudos are fine by me. Short comments give me just as much of an adrenaline rush as longer comments because my email notifications don’t discriminate! I give as long as I get (*coughs* read: I reply at length) so you decide if we’re having a quickie in the comments or if you’re taking me out on a date to have an actual conversation ;)
> 
>  _Constructive criticism is welcome_. Please bear in mind that while I will take it into account, I will not rewrite a story that has already been published. I’d rather incorporate relevant feedback (read: concrete examples and suggestions as to how to address the element in question) into a new work and write a different take on the same plot! Once again, I give as good as I get ;)
> 
>  _You are not, by any means, required to comment if you don’t want to_. I will publish every chapter of a complete story no matter the response to it. Find some more thoughts and tips on commenting [on my tumblr](https://myulalie.tumblr.com/tagged/commenting), I make moodboards for my fics too, if you want to follow me :D Happy reading ♥


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